


Flowers in the Desert

by EilidhNiBhan



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harem, Epic Battles, F/M, Political Campaigns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23283190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EilidhNiBhan/pseuds/EilidhNiBhan
Summary: The Estharian Empire is in dire trouble when their grain reserves are burnt during Centra's revolution and the Sultan's plan to resolve the mounting issue will give Squall and Seifer their hardest challenge to date.
Relationships: Rinoa Heartilly/Squall Leonhart, Seifer Almasy/Quistis Trepe, Seifer Almasy/Rinoa Heartilly
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Sand whipped off the desert dunes like surf off the sea. The sun was hot on the heads of the small caravan who wove their way through the shifting sands in the direction of spires and glistening bell towers that stood in the distance. They had come a long way and everyone was thirsty, tired and footsore, but while their pace might have been laborious out in the dunes, with home in sight they had picked up dramatically. Instruments were fetched and marching songs began, the joyous chant being swept away on the unchecked winds that raced across the desert.  
There were no women or children among this caravan, these were soldiers returning from curtailing the rebellions on the southernmost region of the Estharian Empire’s reach. The locals were having trouble adjusting to the sultan’s rule and had decided to voice their apprehensions with pitchforks and lit torches and had set half the countryside ablaze. Half of the Centran annexation’s yearly crop of wheat. It would be a hard year. Unhappy that he had no choice, the Sultan had dispatched multiple divisions to the location to quell the uprisings and then even more after that to deter any copycats.  
The rebellion was over however and the victorious soldiers could return home with their heads held high. And so they did, marching gayly into the streets of Esthar which teemed with life, markets and merchants everywhere you looked and evidence of wealth on every street corner. The caravan was welcomed back with open arms, cheering and grateful nods of the head. Jugs of water were brought from nearby fountains and pails of fruit and bread were proffered to the men as they passed. They did not buy much, having had very little money in the desert and so traded some minor items from the Centran Wastes which could be of curiosity to the marketeers.  
The caravan took itself up through the city to the central plaza and then dispersed. The communal baths were the first destination of choice for many of the men and then the caravanserai, but a lone figure decided instead to continue through the city to the gates of the Imperial Barrack where he was let in. He was cloaked and swathed from head to toe in material to stave off the sweltering heat of the sun. The Imperial Barrack was an ancient stone structure, far older than the majority of the buildings around it. It, the caravanserai, the palace and the bazaar were the first buildings to have been built in this town and were clustered in the town’s centre amongst a juxtaposition of cramped but highly desired dwellings and sprawling floral gardens, mosques with golden tiled bell roofs and painted white walls, a mix of dirt and tiled roads ran between the houses like vines or roots underground. These streets were as alive as those on the outskirts, but were often too narrow to hold a market stall.  
The lone figure took off his head cover as he made his way through the barrack to the office of the resident vizier, General Caraway. The vizier was laying on his stomach on a bed, accepting a massage from a buxom young girl when the lone figure entered the office, he barely looked up.  
He grunted in acknowledgement, “Tales of your success travel fast, General.”  
The young General nodded, “I’m glad to hear it, you won’t be needing my report then.”  
Caraway huffed and propped himself up on his elbows to look at the sweaty, dirty man who was looking down his nose at him with an unimpressed air. Caraway huffed again, he had never particularly liked this man. Granted, he did a damn fine job of ordering people about and was a dab hand with a spear and shield, but he was unruly, unpredictable and arrogant most of the time. Far too much like Caraway was when he was young.  
“No,” the older man said, settling back down on his bed, “I don’t need it. The rebellion is finished and you return victorious to claim great reward. Is there anything else worth knowing?”  
“The road to Centra is destroyed. The rebels took out the bridge to try and stop us from entering the region.”  
“Damnit!” The vizier growled, looking up again. “What of the harvest now?”  
“The harvest failed because of the fires.” The younger general shrugged, undisturbed. “The only alternative is to mend our ties with Balamb and hope they have had a decent harvest.”  
Caraway grumbled and laid his head back on this pillow as the girl who was working on his reached his shoulders and began large, soothing circles. Balamb had once been a good friend of the Estharian Empire and had aided them in many military campaigns over the years. It was, in fact, the birthplace of the General who now stood before him, but Caraway’s love of the land was lost many summers ago when he stood over the grave of his most beloved wife who had perished in what was meant to be a pleasant, heavenly place. Memories of rain and earth would plague the old vizier from time to time and he tried to ignore it. But if the harvest really had failed…. Then perhaps he was left with no choice but to bury the hatchet at last.  
Grumbling about the indignity, Caraway flapped an arm at the younger man, dismissing him. “Just get out of my sight.” Then called after him when the General did exactly as instructed, “And have a bath before you see the Sultan!”

The Palace of Esthar was a shining monolith of stained glass and painted tiles. Towers and spires climbed to the sky like a forest around a shining dome that formed the inner court. The roof of the dome was painted gold and shone like a penny in the sun. It was supported by a circle of alabaster pillars, from which hung drapes of colourful fabric and grand tapestries that documented the success and wealth of the empire, both historic in nature and prophetic. The newest addition to this collection of hanging records depicted the Estharian Empire’s glorious victory over the Centran Rebellion and afterwards the trail of humbled refugees who came to the steps of the Sultan’s palace seeking succor.  
The Sultan’s court was in session in the cool shade of the dome. Indeed there was a trail of people leading out and into the beautiful palace gardens, but this was a line of viziers, not refugees. In reality no refugee would ever set foot inside the palace and if they did then they would have to be a royal of some description, or come bearing the word of Hyne herself on gilded leaf. Soft music was being played and finely dressed servants walked around the outer rim of the dome, bringing cool wine and fresh fruit to the waiting viziers. Three stood around the Sultan’s couch wafting him gently with giant palm leaves.  
The young general joined the end of the line to wait his turn, declining the wine that was offered, but gladly accepting some fruit. He wasn’t fond of wine after a long haul through the desert.  
By the time the General reached the Sultan and could make his report the heat had gone from the day. Servants had appeared some time earlier, bringing lamps of scented oil into the dome and replacing the cool wine with hot tea as the offering of choice. Palm leaf fans disappeared and so too did the musicians. Those Viziers who were bidden by their position to stay at the court had been given cushions to sit on and a few were starting to nod off, as old men were want to do.  
As the General approached the Sultan stood up and stretched.  
“Almasy,” He said, “Why did you stand at the end of the line? I could have had your report hours ago.”  
“My news is good,” General Almasy shrugged, “There were other, less positive matters to discuss I’m sure.”  
The Sultan huffed, but couldn’t complain much further. He bade the General follow him and lead the way out of the dome and towards the Palace proper, where his private quarters and the Hareem stood. Sultan Laguna was recognised as being a good man and a fair ruler. The second son of the previous Sultan, he was not initially in line for the throne and as per the Estharian Empire’s tradition he would have been assassinated the night before his elder brother’s ascension. However, whether by chance or freak accident Laguna’s elder brother had died before he could be crowned and Laguna was saved. There being no other surviving children of the Sultan, Laguna was crowned instead. Speculation over the death of Crown Prince Resul was rife, but there was so little left of the Prince’s carriage after it’s tumble into the ravine that there was no evidence of any foul play to be found. It was assumed to be an accident, one in which the young Prince Laguna - who had been 14 at the time - was not involved.  
The Sultan’s living quarters had already been lit before they arrived and the lounge the pair retired to was decked out in soft brown and rich blue. The current Crown Prince, Squall the Leonheart was waiting for them when they arrived. He glowered at Seifer.  
The Crown Prince was a generally unpopular man. He had grey eyes and light brown hair - a testament to his father’s heritage - and a fearsome scowl. He was under the false impression that his accomplishments - of which there were a respectable number - had been hard earned by him and that respect should therefore naturally be given. The General on the other hand was of the opinion that Squall’s accompishments had been spoonfed to him by the Sultan with the intention of toughening him up with some easier assignments before he was required to take on the gargantuan task of running the country. Squall had little experience in politics, preferring to treat the majority of the Viziers as snakes in disguise, but his martial skill was indeed to be recognised. The General often sought the Crown Prince out as a sparring partner and that alone should be testimony to his prowess with a sword or a lance.  
The Sultan and General took their respective places on the sofas, padded with cushions and pillows around a table that boasted a full bowl of fresh fruit and a large jug of cool red wine. It was quite rare for both the Crown Prince and the General to be called to the same meeting. It was common knowledge that they did not often agree with each other, so their affairs seldom overlapped. That they were both here in this room with the Sultan said that this meeting was of some importance.  
When the Sultan was comfortable and furnished with a full goblet of wine - courtesy of the Sultan’s personal Eunuch - he began. “General Almasy, word has reached me of your success on the Centran border.” Seifer nodded, “Very good. I’m also aware of the destruction of the greater portion of Centra’s grain crop.” Seifer nodded again. “Having considered our options thoroughly, I am left with no choice but to mend the rift that has torn asunder the bonds between our nation and that of the Balambian King, Cid Kramer.”  
Seifer spoke as the Sultan took a sip of his wine. The pause was carefully timed by the Sultan so as to allow a reaction from the two young men sitting opposite him. Not that the Crown Prince seemed to have noticed, as usual he was watching the events in silence. “Your Eminence, the disagreement between Balamb and Esthar is fierce and harvest is almost upon us. If we are to secure a source of grain from Balamb before our people suffer then we must have something we can offer the Balambians which is worth as much to them as the grain is to us.”  
“Indeed, I’ve decided to give them my son.”  
At this Squall choked. Seifer looked at him as he started to go red and then back at the Sultan who had taken another sip of his wine and was happily waiting for his son’s coughing fit to subside. Even to Seifer this was an unexpected announcement. Esthar had no shortage of treasures, they would surely have no trouble locating something among their collection that would be of use to Balamb. But to give the Crown Prince? Seifer frowned, what could Squall give them that would pay them even one bushel of wheat? The Sultan looked at him with a twinkle in his eye, knowing he was thinking.  
Seifer poured himself a goblet of wine and took a sip, mirroring the Sultan, and thought. Eventually Squall had regained his composure and sat up straight in his chair. He addressed his father, “Why?”  
“Because as the General has mentioned, the rift between our countries is deep. It will take a gesture as strong as the one which tore it to mend it again.”  
“Am I to be married?” Squall asked, unimpressed. Now it was Seifer’s turn to choke on his wine. He pounded his fist against his own chest and eventually came up with a snort of laughter.  
“To whom?” He asked, “The King? Don’t be stupid, we’d have more luck asking Caraway to marry him. It’s something else.” He considered for a moment longer while Squall ground his teeth in a bid not to react but then eventually Seifer too had to admit defeat.  
“My sources have indicated that tensions between Balamb and Galbadia have risen.” The Sultan clarified for the two men. “The Balambian Ambassador in Timber was recently sent home in fact and the Dukedom of Dollet has been annexed by the Galbadian Empire.”  
“Reinforcements.” Seifer muttered under his breath, finally cottoning on to the Emperor’s plan. He rubbed his chin in thought.  
“We will provide reinforcements to Balamb for the duration of their campaign and once victory is secured convince them to sign a treaty and remake our alliance. Our price for our services is grain.”  
Seifer nodded, still rubbing his chin. Squall had resumed his scowling. Quite recovered from his earlier shock, he was now simply annoyed at the proposal, that he would be the one carted off to the middle of enemy territory to fight some godforsaken war in the name of a country no body cared about. After some time of thinking, while the Sultan sipped his wine and let his drinking partners digest the information, Squall asked “If I am to be the one to fight this war, what is Almasy doing in this meeting?”  
Seifer looked up, “Probably drafted in to babysit.”  
Squall glared as hard as he could. The audacity! He had led miriad military campaigns all across the Empire to increasing degrees of success, Almasy’s recent little victory against the Centrans (which culminated in the utter destruction of their biggest wheat provider he might add!) did not give him the right to sniff at Squall’s competency. “More likely to learn from my example.”  
Teeth bared, the General made to retort, but the Sultan cut them off, “General Almasy will lead our forces in the campaign, your task as my son is to broker the treaty between our two nations.”  
Both men looked aghast. Seifer pointed a finger in Squall’s direction, “You’re trusting him to broker any kind of political anything?”  
Squall swatted the finger away and growled “You’re suggesting we let this ape lead our army? Why?!”  
“Because you’re not good enough.” Came the General’s reply.  
“Because,” The Sultan said above the noise, “You cannot be in two places at once. It is your responsibility, Squall, to be the face of our nation in a foreign land. I am assigning you as my emissary because you are my son and there will be no greater honour for the Balambian court than to play host to the Crown Prince of another nation. Your presence will also show our intentions to be true, that I would trust this task to no one else than the flesh of my own flesh because we consider our friendship with Balamb to be just so important. General Almasy will be there to lead our forces because while you are surely adequate for the task-” The General quirked an eyebrow antagonisingly at the Crown Prince at being described by his own father as simply being ‘adequate for the task’, “ -his experience and ingenuity is greater suited for this particular campaign. I have never asked you to fight outside of our Empire, however, the majority of the General’s campaigns have been fought on foreign soil. I believe you may even have been to Galbadia before, am I correct?”  
The General nodded at the question, “I’ve been to Fisherman’s Horizon before.”  
Squall snorted, “Why?”  
“Fishing.” The General replied in the most patronising tone he could manage.  
“My intention with this arrangement,” the Sultan continued, “Is that our forces will be spread in the most advantageous manner and that the Balambians will be in no doubt of our sincerity when we request an alliance with them.”  
The two men fell silent again, one rubbing his chin and the other burning a hole through the nearest cushion. The Sultan continued. “I do not expect you to like this arrangement, but I do expect you to understand that none of my choices are ever made lightly and that if either of you make an attempt to sabotage or deviate from what I have told you, you will leave me with no choice but to consider punitive measures, which again I never make lightly. General,” Seifer looked up, “In recognition of your victory you may take Rinoa Heartily into your hareem. I have already spoken with the Grand Vizier and he has agreed, I have had quarters arranged for you in the Palace and she is waiting for you there. Eat and drink as you please.”  
Seifer nodded and, recognising his dismissal, left. Once the heavy wooden door had closed behind him, the Sultan took up his conversation with his son once more. Squall had moved his assault on to another cushion. The Eunuch refilled the Sultan’s goblet.  
“Squall, look at me please.” When he did the Sultan gave him a goofy smile. Squall glowered at his father. “I know you don’t like being partnered with General Almasy-”  
“Then why does it have to be him?” Squall asked, voice strained with tension. “I’d take anyone other than him!”  
The Sultan shook his head, “It has to be him because you hate him.” Squall’s jaw fell open. “A Great Sultan takes all of his assets into consideration and has to be able to recognise them for what they are. You have to learn to recognise him for what he is. I have shielded you from this requirement until now, however-”  
“But I do know what he is; he’s a loose cannon.”  
“His unpredictability is what makes him such a powerful tool. If he could be read like a book, or followed the rules to a T then he and his men would be sitting ducks in the field.”  
“But he doesn’t follow any of the rules, on or off the field.”  
“We can forgive him for that so long as he continues to fight for our side. You will find, when I am dead and you are Sultan, that it takes more than a plan and good administration to keep an Empire afloat. It takes grit and blood. Men like him are powerful tools to have, so hate him though you might, my son, one day you’ll be glad of him and his grit.”  


The quarters which were reserved for Seifer in the palace were extravagant, with a large four poster bed, couches and cushions and tables and ornaments, it’s own bathing room and entry onto one of the many palace gardens. The lanterns were lit when he arrived and the smell of hot food was wafting around. Taking off his cloak and weaponry he gave them to a Eunuch waiting by the door and these were carried away for him. Given how dusty he was from his journey through the desert his first order of business was a bath.  
The bath was pleasantly warm - courtesy of a group of hot stones that had been dropped into the waters prior to Seifer’s arrival - and it steamed gently. Before he got in Seifer popped himself down on an upturned bucket by the side of the bath and began scrubbing furiously with a brush and a bar of soap. He doused himself with water to rinse the soap and dirt off and then began the process again. The water running off him was brown, but after the third go the water ran clear.  
Satisfied, Seifer stepped into the bath for a soak. He was almost drifting off when a soft giggle from the doorway caught his attention. He looked round. Rinoa was stood in the doorway, half hidden by the wall, staring at him. Her smile broadened when he grinned at her.  
“May I come in?” She asked. He nodded his approval and turned back to face away from her again as she hurried over, a pillow in her hands. Putting it down on the floor behind Seifer’s head she arranged herself so that his head would fall into her lap and began to run her fingers through his hair and over his scalp in little circular motions.  
“I can’t believe your father agreed to this.” Seifer mused, stifling a groan under Rinoa’s ministrations.  
“He didn’t have a choice,” Rinoa replied happily. “I went to the Sultan myself.”  
Seifer raised an eyebrow at that information. He and the young woman had known each other for some time. When they were children - she already a rambunctious young princess and he a mucky street urchin - Seifer had heard her crying in the courtyard of her palatial home. He didn’t often have time for girls, but peering in through the gaps in the ornate three dimensional tiling in the courtyard’s wall, he saw that the girl was pretty so decided to give her a little of his time. She had explained that she was missing her mother who had gone away to a foreign country and she had no one now to play with or protect her. Foolhardy and ambitious, he told her he was a General in training and would protect her if she needed it.  
They met every few days to talk and play and this went on for a number of weeks, until eventually Seifer’s presence was discovered by one of the household maids and he was dragged by his ear to see Rinoa’s father, Grand Vizier Fury Caraway. The Vizier had naturally been appalled by Seifer’s involvement with his daughter. She was destined to enter the Imperial Harem, she couldn’t be caught messing around with some disgusting street rat! The punishment for seducing a Viziers - 7 year old - daughter was the loss of a hand, but on hearing this Seifer had demanded that he was only doing his job as her protector and therefore he demanded a fair trial. The Vizier had laughed and told the young lad there was no way he was getting any kind of trial, fair or otherwise, because there was no court in the land who would hear this case. But the tenacious lad had disagreed and told the Vizier that the only court he needed was in the room with them right then and proceeded to challenge the Grand Vizier to a game of chess. If he lost then the Vizier was free to take his hand, but if he won, then the Grand Vizier would provide him with entry to the ranks of the Imperial Army.  
Fully expecting to win, the Vizier had accepted these terms and made a mental note to book an appointment with the Imperial Prison Executioner to have the boy’s hand chopped off. However, the chess match which ensued stunned all witnesses as the Vizier was beaten - quite roundly - by the then 12 year old boy. At the time the Vizier had been furious, tossing the chess table aside and insisting that the boy had cheated, or that he wasn’t an urchin at all and that somehow, by some means, he had been duped. But Seifer had explained that when he had come to play with Rinoa he had always seen the Vizier playing chess in his office with his associates. The Vizier it seemed always played in the same manner and had over the years perfected a number of paths to victory from which he rarely deviated. Noticing this, Seifer had considered his own path to success and was fairly confident that by forcing the Vizier to play moves which were unfamiliar to him, he stood a reasonable chance of winning the battle. The Vizier’s predictability was his weakness and Seifer’s ticket into the rank and file of the Imperial Army, through whose ranks he rose with the frightening pace of the naturally gifted.  
“I’m flattered,” He smiled up at the young woman, she had grown beautiful over the years, “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”  
She blushed and turned her attention to his face, smoothing her fingers over his skin, his brow bone, cheeks, jaw and firm, masculine chin. “Well you should have, and I shouldn’t have to say so.”  
Comfortable silence reigned until Seifer’s bath was done and they went in search of dinner, which had by this point arrived in the main chamber on a long dark wood table. Dressed in a much more comfortable robe and soft keks, Seifer could not wait for his dinner. Though he did not at all mind military rations - any food was good food as far as he was concerned - there was something completely different about palace cooking. There were frequently things for dinner that he had never even heard of, let alone had the chance to eat. On his table tonight was a steaming pot of aromatic soup, a big bowl of humus, a loaf of crusted bread, a hot bean salad with chilli and spices and a rack of lamb ribs sat in a deep terracotta dish of gravy. Herbs and spices swam around them and the meat looked ready to fall off the bone.  
They talked of business in Centra as they ate and Seifer told her of his upcoming quest into Balambian territory, or as much of it as he could. Typically women were not trusted with a great deal of information until they were married and then they were only ever told what their husbands saw fit or thought would benefit their family. Not that this stopped the female population of the Empire. Women talked - women always talked - and while most of this was dismissed as being the idle prattle of people with nothing better to do, within this morass was a plethora of secrets that the men of the world had much rather kept under wraps. As the Grand Vizier’s daughter Rinoa already knew a great deal of what was going on in the world and in the Palace - she had very sharp hearing - so Seifer was sure that whatever he told her would soon be augmented with rumors from the maids or tales from rather less scrupulous ‘wives’.  
When he had had enough of his meal the plates were cleared away and Rinoa offered to dance for him. Dancing had been her singular passion as a youngster. Her mother had been a renowned dancer before her death and it seemed her only daughter had inherited her skill. Knowing what it meant to her, Seifer nodded his consent and received a quick kiss on the lips as thanks, and Rinoa began to dance.  
Although there were no instruments to accompany her Rinoa’s dancing carried a rhythm of it’s own, her clothing, adorned with tiny silver bells and gold coins that jangled and rang prettily in the quiet, providing the only music she needed to bewitch her audience. As ever, Seifer was entranced.


	2. Chapter 2

Seifer and Squall had been summoned to the Sultan’s side while court was still in session. Such a thing could only have one implication as the Imperial court was almost never disturbed while it was in session. There was only one occasion in which such an event was expected and so it could only mean one thing: War.  
For the past week rumours had been flitting about the palace and it was clear to even the lowliest Eunuch that something big was afoot, but until today those rumours had yet to be validated. Seifer had been invited to stay in the palace until the news they knew was coming came and had been entertaining himself with a mixture of Rinoa and sparring practice. His duties as the General occupied some of his attention, but a good portion of the week was spent pissing into the wind and wondering when the war would arrive and he would have something interesting to do.  
And come the war did. Immediately Seifer’s peaceful, almost slothful life was thrown into overdrive and he was rushed off his feet making the necessary arrangements and finalising his tweaking of the forces the Sultan had allowed him to have for their campaign. Although he had a week to finalise his mobilisation plans he had taken a leisurely approach and so there was a bit of catching up to do. Of course Prince Pompous never lifted a finger towards the arrangements, not even of his own travel and effects. Still, it was Seifer’s ‘pleasure’ to do this work for him and so when they set out to Balamb some 24 hours after the Sultan’s summons both men had been furnished with the exact same effects. For example, the two young women riding irritably in the back of an ox cart.  
Rinoa twisted around in her ‘seat’ to stare at the back of Seifer’s head. Feeling his hair beginning to burn he glanced around to look at her. She pouted at him.  
“Why are we here?” She asked.  
Seifer reigned in his horse for the cart to catch up and he could look at Rinoa more easily, “We’re going to Balamb to offer them aide in their fight against Galbadia, they’re being invaded.” He said.  
“I know that,” Rinoa dismissed him with a wave of her hand, “But why am I here?”  
“Well,” Seifer gestured at Squall’s back - he was still riding at the front of the column, sunlight glinting off his ridiculously shiney suit of armour. Seifer had been appalled when he’d first seen it. Alright so it was fine for the little princeling to wear it while they pranced about in the Empire’s territory, but if he thought he could go waltzing into Balamb dressed like that, with sunlight bouncing off him like he was some kind of beacon drawing all the enemies in, then he was much mistaken; he might as well have been dressed like a lighthouse for Hyne’s sake - “Someone simply couldn’t bare to be without their priced peacock, so I decided to bring mine along too.”  
Rinoa’s jaw fell open - she didn’t much like being referred to as a peacock - but the young woman sat next to her merely sniffed. It was enough to evidence her displeasure. She was slender with pale skin and bright blonde hair that shone like gold in the summer sun even from under her head-scarf and she sat up straight on her cushion in the cart as though she were actually attending a dinner in the Imperial Palace. Her expression was unimpressed and Seifer had still yet to hear her speak. She seemed like a snobbish, rigid sort of a person, just right for the uptight young Crown Prince. Pretty though. Seifer had only gotten a brief look at her face as they were being loaded into the cart but what he had seen had him a little interested. Hers was a different sort of beauty from Rinoa’s, pale and fragile where Rinoa was bright and full bodied. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if she turned out to be the sickly type. Quistis Trepe was her name and she was the first member of the Prince’s harem. Gifted to him by the Sultan when he was 18, she went everywhere with the Crown Prince and was very well travelled. Thinking he was dealing with someone accustomed to comfort and little else Seifer had expected all sorts of complaints about the ox cart - in a way that was why he’d chosen it - but she hadn’t said a word. In fact, she seemed quite comfortable on her perch, more comfortable than Rinoa at any rate.  
“But what am I meant to be doing while you’re off gallivanting around with your army?” Rinoa asked, affronted. “I’m no good with a sword and unless you want to fire me from a cannon I’m sorry but I just can’t see how I would be of any use.”  
“Just do what you normally do,” He shrugged, “Entertain me, keep my glass full and keep me happy. The Royal Pain in the Arse even made us bring a harp along so maybe Ice Queen over there can play you something to dance to. I dunno, make it up.”  
Rinoa put her finger to her chin in thought as the General trotted off and she looked at her travelling companion. Quistis had not said anything since they’d left the palace and even then it was only to thank the man who helped her into the carriage. Seifer had helped Rinoa, but she noticed that the Crown Prince was nowhere in sight to help Quistis. He didn’t seem too fond of her actually.  
“May I call you by your first name?” Rinoa asked, getting Quistis to turn around.  
“Yes, may I call you by yours?”  
“Yes! My name is Rinoa Heartily.”  
“Yes, I’ve heard of you, the Grand Vizier is your father is he not?”  
Rinoa smiled weakly. “Yes, he is.” Quistis was studying Rinoa’s face with intense focus and it made the other girl want to squirm. Quistis was equipped with a startlingly blue pair of eyes, a very uncommon trait in Esthar. Only the Royal Family had eyes like that. To see them now on a woman who was not a member of the Royal Family by heritage was a little off-putting. “I can’t imagine what you must have heard of me.”  
At this Quistis smiled and her fierce expression softened immediately to one of quiet amusement, though it still held a touch of disdain, “Only that you’re not impressed with your father.”  
“I suppose that’s putting it rather politely,” Rinoa conceded, “But thank you for your deference to my feelings. He’s a great man who’s accomplished many things for our Empire.”  
“But?”  
“He’s not a very good father.”  
Quistis smiled again and said serenely, “Whether a parent is good or not is not a question of how well they are liked by their children.”  
The girls talked about their childhoods as the procession moved through the desert. Where Rinoa had lived all of her life in the city of Esthar, Quistis had been born in Centra around the time of the annexation. Her father was one of the few clergymen who welcomed the changes brought in by the Estharian Empire and did his best to ease the tensions in the area. As his daughter Qusitis had been sent to live in the Sultan’s harem, as a further sign of respect to the Sultan and an attempt to create goodwill between the people of Esthar and the people of Centra. Quistis had had a good childhood she said and although she missed her home and her family greatly at the time, she did not resent her father for sending her away because she knew that everything her father and mother did was for the betterment of all. As their daughter Quistis had to respect that and the principles they gave her - honesty, hard work, charity and faith - were ones she lived by even now. Rinoa’s childhood had been rather different. As the daughter of the Grand Vizier she already held great worth, but was expected to do little else other than to simply hold it. She received an education from the greatest minds in the city (though she was seldom grateful for it), was taken to political dinners, paraded around like a prize pig at the market and generally used by her father as a physical embodiment of his power and wealth. To pass the time more easily she had started to dance and had perfected her craft. So praised was she in this regard that her father had even asked her to perform for the Sultan at the age of 15. As predicted her father’s popularity increased as well.  
In the end the girls found each other’s company to be quite pleasant.  
They marched all day, stopping only to water their horses and take some light refreshment and by the time they stopped for the evening they had crossed out of the sand and into more rocky, rugged territory. Some trees and shrubs dotted the landscape here and there and amongst the rocks and roots all around them small lizards and bugs and beetles of all kinds scurried.  
Rinoa looked around as the tents went up. This was the furthest east she had ever been and it was fascinating. The larger part of their day had been occupied by the desert which seemed at the time to be never ending, a vast sea of sand and dunes, but having reached the craggy edge they had climbed some way upwards. Now, after only a few hours of walking, the desert could not be seen at all. A great yellow dust cloud rose in the west to pinpoint the desert’s position and the shadow of mountains could be seen further afield while north and south were unremarkable. It seemed absurd that this was still part of the Estharian Empire. Oh Rinoa had seen maps before and she knew from her governess that the Imperial City sat on the westernmost edge of the desert and that the eastern edge was far farther way than she was now, but the terrain was so different it just seemed natural to assume that this land would belong to someone else. It certainly did not feel right that such different places should belong to the same Empire. Shaking her head at the enormity of it all Rinoa wondered exactly what kind of power the Sultan had in the far reaches of his Empire. How much went beyond his gaze, how many people suffered because they did not have his help?  
By the time Rinoa had finished admiring the view and poking at the lizards and pondering the questions of the universe the tents had been erected and food was being prepared. She and Seifer were meant to share a tent and so were Quistis and the Crown Prince, but when she returned to her tent she found not the General but Quistis, sat on a stool and reading.  
“Hello,” Rinoa greeted her.  
“Hello.”  
“Where is the General?”  
“With His Majesty in his tent,” Quistis said, turning a page delicately in her book, “They’re consulting some old maps and don’t want to be disturbed.”  
“I see,” said Rinoa. Now that she knew they were up to something she wanted desperately to go and have a look. Though she doubted Quistis would take the bait, Rinoa asked mischievously, “Do you want to go and have a look?”  
The look that Quistis gave her was a mixture of amusement and consternation. “I was told not to disturb them,” She said and then added, “But they said nothing about you.”  
If she expected the perky young woman to get into trouble for eavesdropping then she didn’t have to wait long for that prediction to be proven. Mere seconds after Rinoa had left the tent she was frog marched back into it by an armoured man with a bushy beard. She scowled at him as he walked away back to his post outside the Prince’s tent.  
“What can they be talking about that we can’t know about?” She asked, throwing herself down in the arrangement of cushions that lay about the floor, “We’re on this campaign, surely we should be allowed to know what’s going on. Aren’t our lives at stake?”  
Quistis turned another page in her book. “We aren’t here as accessories to their campaign; as you noted before, neither of us is any good with a sword and would be little more than cannon fodder out in the field. We are here to serve wine and save them from getting bored too soon. There’s no reason why we should know anything about their campaign, I am certainly not a military strategist.”  
“But aren’t you curious?” Rinoa asked. “We’re going to a foreign country on a rescue mission. That’s got to pique your interest.”  
A small smile, “A little, but not to the point of eavesdropping on my future husband.”  
“Oh! You’re going to be the Prince’s legal wife?” Rinoa sat up. Now this was an interesting conversation. Forget all that nonsense about strategy meetings, she wanted to talk about love.  
“I hope so.” Quistis said, glancing up to see Rinoa leaning in and grinning madly. Clearing her throat the blonde woman looked quickly back at her book and asked “What about you and the General? Has he asked you to be his wife?”  
Rinoa giggled. Quistis, it appeared, was a fellow hopeless romantic. “He hasn’t asked me yet, it’s only been a week since I entered his hareem, but I think he will. How long have you been with the Prince? Are there many girls in his hareem?”  
“4 years,” Quistis said, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “There aren’t any others yet.”  
“No competition then!” Rinoa grinned at her, making the other girl blush. Still, 4 years and no proposal? That didn’t seem right. And Quistis was so kind too! Was the Prince alright? Was he just not interested in girls?  
“From what I’ve heard the General is a boar, I hope that’s not the case.”  
“No, he’s actually very chivalrous, he just likes to tease people.”  
“Oh, well that’s a relief then, from the way he was speaking about the Prince earlier I almost got the wrong impression.”  
Rinoa blinked. Quistis had gone back to her book, appearing to have gotten her wayward emotions under control again, but that meant that she was back to being critical. How strange that a person could change so quickly.   
“I know he wasn’t very nice to you earlier,” Rinoa guessed and from the look Quistis gave her she was right on the money, “But that’s only because he doesn’t know you. He’s not a great people person but once you get to know him he’s actually very nice.”  
Quistis scoffed and rolled her eyes, going back to her book. Rinoa fidgeted..  
“Even if he is bad with people,” Quistis said eventually, “There is such a thing as common courtesy and as far as I’m aware calling people names doesn’t fall into that category.”  
Rinoa sighed, figuring the blonde was right. Perhaps it would benefit them all if Rinoa asked Seifer to play nicely?  
____________________  
“Play nicely?” Seifer scoffed, pushing on Rinoa’s shoulders to make some space between them. They had been settling in for bed when Rinoa had suddenly turned on the charm - not that Seifer was complaining much - and begun planting delicate kisses along his jaw. He wondered aloud what the two girls had been discussing to put Rinoa in such a mood, but she’d chided him about delving into others affairs and said that perhaps she would consider telling him if he promised to play nicely with the other kids.  
“Just a little more nicely,” Rinoa said then, the full force of her big brown eyes focused on wearing down Seifer’s resolve.  
He grimaced, “But why?”  
“Because at the moment they think you’re mean.”  
“HA!” He laughed, “So what?! Let them think that, I don’t care! Prince Charming knows I’ve no great love for him anyway so what do I care?”  
“But what about Quistis?” Rinoa reasoned, “She doesn’t have to think you’re mean!”  
“Oh that old thing-” Seifer waved the idea away, “I got nothing to do with her anyway so why should I care what she thinks?”  
“Because she’s here with us on this trip and she thinks you’re a boar!”  
“A boar.”  
“Yes! I tried telling her you’re actually really nice but she wasn’t having any of it. She doesn’t like the way you talk about the Prince, and-” She emphasised when Seifer rolled his eyes, “-I don’t like the way you talk about him either. And don’t call her an ‘old thing’” Rinoa wagged her finger under Seifer’s nose, “that’s unfair as well. She’s probably no older than I am so you can’t call her old!”  
“She’s 19 already, for an unmarried woman that’s practically ancient.”  
“I’m only 17! What am I if she’s ancient?”  
“Alright, you can be ancient, she’ll be pre-historic.”  
Rinoa slapped his arm, but he was teasing and she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “I’m serious!” She said when he grinned, “I want you to be nice to them - they’re meant to be our friends.”  
“Fine,” Seifer conceded, but then held up a finger when Rinoa threatened a victory dance, “But I won’t be nice to Princey-poos, that’s just too much to ask. I guess I can treat his old bag a little nicer though.”  
__________________________________________________________________________________________  
If the old bag had noticed the difference in his attitude towards her she certainly wasn’t telling. For the next few days he went out of his way to help her on and off the ox cart, make sure she was afforded proper refreshment - as it seemed Squall was too far up his own arse to attend to that small detail - and saw to it that she didn’t have to fetch her own dinner or eat on her own. Rinoa was glad of a new dining partner and Quistis made no complaints, but it was reasonably obvious that his presence still was unwanted, which Seifer could not understand. Women practically threw themselves at his feet back in the city so why was this harpy pretending to be any different? He was a catch a damn sight better than her beloved Prince!  
He had watched Quistis’ behaviour over the last few days and was now pretty convinced that she was head over heels in love with the moron that was Squall Leonheart. Moreover there was no explanation for it! Squall either completely ignored her or treated her like she was some dog muck on the bottom of his shoe. He ordered her around, ordered her out of his tent on a regular basis, refused to indulge in any conversation and generally made it pretty clear he despised every second of her presence. But that was another thing Seifer couldn’t understand. As far as Seifer could tell Quistis was the Goddess Hyne in reincarnation. Having gotten a proper look at her over the last few days Seifer could safely say that far from the sickly wench he’d assumed her to be she was one of the most beautiful people he’d ever met - sorry Rinoa - with a kind of grace and refinement that came with years of personal discipline. She had a sort of quiet dignity about her that drew him in; he had inadvertently wasted hours of time staring at her in the ox cart, or staring off into space and recalling in great detail the length of her neck, the way she sat, the look on her face... She was dressed in a fine blue dress and her hair was always impeccably done with not a hair out of place even after a week on the road. She scurried around when they made camp, arranging the Prince’s tent and belongings in as convenient a manner as could be imagined and so speedily too! Seifer soon found him copying her floor plan - though it took quite some muster to admit where he was getting his inspiration from.  
But honestly, watching the two of them performing their odd dance, where she doted on him like a loving - or obsessed - mother, and he threw it all back like a petulant child, almost made Seifer want to be sick. There was just so much that didn’t make sense to him; why did Squall insist on having her with him if he was just going to treat her like a slave? Why did she indulge him when he made her eat with the men out in the cold? What was the harp for? Why bother to bring it along if he never asked her to play it? Who poured his wine when his cup had run dry? Squall was surely too much of a ponce to pour it himself so that was out of the question. How many other women were so stupid as to go along with this? Rinoa at least would have had a conniption fit if Seifer had tried treating her that way, so why was Quistis just taking it all in as though it was alright?  
“Why do you let him ignore you?” He asked one day. He had been returning from emptying his bladder and found Quistis having her dinner perched on a rock outside the Prince’s tent.  
“I beg your pardon?” She asked, clearly taken aback.  
“He doesn’t even look at you.” Seifer continued. He honestly hadn’t meant to voice his thoughts, the words just slipped out by mistake, but now they were here he may as well satisfy his curiosity. “Why doesn’t he look at you? And why do you put up with that?”  
“I-” She paused, baffled, then said, “He’s our Prince.”  
“Come on, even a Prince can look someone in the eye every now and then. And what’s he even keeping you for? Four years is a long-”   
At this she bristled and stood to leave. “Wait, Quistis-” He caught her arm, forcing her to turn and face him, “I didn’t mean to-”  
“Then what did you mean to say?” She snapped, “That there must be something wrong with me because i haven’t made my way into his legal family?”  
He could safely attest to there being nothing wrong with her that he could find, he had tried. “More like there’s something wrong with him.”  
“There’s nothing wrong with him.” She ground out.  
Seifer sighed - so much for playing nice - “Oh I beg to differ, sweetheart, there’s a lot wrong with our darling little Prince and it’s a lot more than just a spit in the eye.”  
“Don’t speak as if you’re any better!” She snarled.  
“At least I treat you like a human being, which is more than can be said for him!”  
It didn’t seem like she had any response to that, so Quistis could only stand and glare. And my what a glare it was. It had the sort of potency that would burn a hole through a meter thick sold stone block and then keep going and it was currently aimed at Seifer’s head. Her eyes seemed to glow an even brighter shade of blue and flashed in the fire light, betraying her anger. Eventually she opened her mouth and spat, “Let go of my arm.”  
Seifer did. What else could he have done? She looked angry enough to curse him all the way to the seventh heaven and back. Turning, Quistis stalked away into the night, leaving Seifer to storm off in the direction of his own tent.  
“Fine!” He said loudly, throwing the flap back on his tent and stepping inside, “Be like that! You’re suited to each other!”  
Rinoa, who had been organising a few of their belongings, turned to look at him as he stomped about huffily. “Who’s suited for each other?”  
“Those two!” He stabbed a finger in the direction of Squall’s tent, “He’s a self-entitled little shit for brains and she’s a bloody- ….succubus!”  
Rinoa gasped, “What?!”  
“Well, no,” Seifer shook his head angrily, taking a breath. If she were a succubus she would have made a move on him by now... “She’s not a succubus, but she certainly isn’t any easier! Damned prickly waste of my time!”  
He stomped about a bit more, cross with himself for thinking she was anything more than a nice looking toad, before throwing himself down on his bed and tugging off a shoe. “I’m going to sleep.” He announced angrily. Rinoa watched him undress and then struggle to get comfortable under his blanket. Given he was already grumpy getting comfortable was an impossibility, so eventually she left him to his struggling and decided to pay the Crown Prince a visit. It would be the first time that she had spoken to him and the first time that he had ever deigned to look at her, but if he was caught up in whatever mess had made Seifer so angry then he would probably need some looking after too.  
_______  
Furious about her encounter with General Almasy - who did he even think he was, making comments about the Prince like that? - Quistis had stormed off. But, going in no particular direction, had found herself in the middle of the infantry camp. It was a different world down here and made her quite uncomfortable. She had often been praised for her beauty and when she had been part of the Imperial Hareem the Matron Edea had told her that her beauty would be the key to opening many doors in her life but only so long as she followed it with selflessness. The appreciative looks she had gotten in her court performances with the Harp, or even as a child in her home village in the Centran foothills had done nothing however to prepare her for the looks the infantrymen gave her. It was lust and nothing else. It made her shiver and her skin crawl.  
The discomfort she now felt went a long way to dispelling her anger, so she hurried back to the forward camp where her’s and Squall’s tent stood. With any luck he would be in bed by now asleep and she could slip in undetected to take up her cot in the corner of the tent. He had a number of other odd requirements and affectations which she had to work around, such as never making eye contact when she spoke to him and not answering anything that was not a direct question. As the General had pointed out he hardly ever looked at her, but this Quistis did not mind. At least this way she could be sure that he wouldn’t be marrying her for her beauty, it would be for the other benefits that she brought him; increased influence in the Centran foothills; money from her family’s considerable fortune; land; an army; and understanding of the historical importance of the geography of the surrounding Kingdoms - she was a shrewd thinker and extremely well read. She would bring other things to him than simple love and beauty.  
However, when she returned to her tent she found that Squall was not in bed at all. He was up and talking with that woman, Rinoa Heartily.  
Quistis was struck. She hadn’t at any point registered Rinoa as a threat. She was just too energetic for the likes of Squall Leonheart and besides, she was besotted with the General - for some ungodly reason, Quistis herself certainly couldn’t find anything good about the uncultured ape. There was no reason why Rinoa would be a threat to Quistis’ sway over Squall’s heart and yet there she was in his tent in the middle of the night, giggling and talking softly to him. And he was replying!  
Hand to her mouth in surprise, Quistis crept forwards to listen.  
“I know!” Rinoa cried, “He’s just such a bore, I don’t know how he doesn’t put the Sultan to sleep!”  
“I think he has a stand in the seat beind him that holds his neck n place incase he dozes off.”  
“Really? That’s a marvellous trick!”  
WHAT?! Quistis reared back in alarm. What was this?! Friendly conversation? But Squall wasn’t interested in tittle-tattle! She leant in to listen again.  
“I’ve always wanted to see the court in session, but my father so rarely goes. What’s it like?”  
“Boring.”  
“Well I sort of gathered that,” a giggle, “But what sort of people go? Is there any music? Do you ever go?”  
A derisive snort, “Not if I can help it. I’ve attended a few, especially if it turns out that there’s something important going to come up, but it’s usually just a bunch of old men airing their dirty laundry.” Squall’s tone spoke volumes about his opinion of such affairs and the people who had to attend them. This was a task for men with far too much time on their hands, or his father. “There’s music, dancing, some food and drink, whatever’s typical of the season.”  
“Oh, do you think I could see a session if I pretended to be a dancer?”  
Quistis scoffed. If the young lady thought she would get to the Prince’s heart with mischief then she was sorely mistaken. Squall abhorred mischief or disfunctionality. Rules were there to be obeyed to the letter and no one was allowed into the session who hadn’t been invited to be there, so no, Rinoa could not see a session by pretending to be a dancer.  
“Maybe.”  
Quistis was stunned. In all the four years she had spent with the Prince he had never engaged in what could reasonably be called ‘friendly conversation’ with her. Granted he was a lot grumpier now than he had been when they were younger, but his verbalisations were limited to affirmations or rejections, brief requests or on the very rare occasion, thanks. That Rinoa had managed to coax him into conversation and possibly secure a seat for herself in his next court session in the space of a mere evening spoke volumes for the girl’s persuasive skills and labelled her quite firmly as a threat to Quistis’ position.  
Feeling ill-will creeping up her spin, Quistis turned. She didn’t quite know what to do. She liked Rinoa. She thought they were becoming friends. For a start Rinoa actually talked to Quistis and it wasn’t with any animosity behind it. And then there were the similarities behind their experiences and- She thought Rinoa was in love with the General! What she was doing in with the Prince…? She knew how Quistis felt about him…  
Quistis tapped her chin as she thought. What was she do to now? She’d not been in a situation where her position as Squall’s intended bride was threatened before - he’d never shown any interest in women before, so why should it be? She wracked her brains for a plan of action, one that would get the other girl’s attention away from the Prince and back to where it should have been - the General.  
The normal method taken up by jilted women was to inspire jealousy, or to humiliate their opponents. However something told Quistis that that approach would not work in this instance because of the personalities of the individuals involved in this scenario. If Quistis tried to make Rinoa jealous by cosying up to the General then she was just as likely to lose her as a friend as she was to lose the Prince’s interest all together and if she tried to humiliate Rinoa by cosying up to the Prince and ‘reminding’ her who was in whose hareem then she would be labelled cruel and underhanded without a moment’s hesitation despite the fact that it was Rinoa ripping the carpet out from under Quistis’s feet. Something else told her that neither of her plans would sit well with the General either, who had a pretty good read on the situation already.  
In the end she couldn’t come up with anything useful and decided instead to watch for a potential opening, or spark of inspiration. She spent the night perched on her rock outside the Prince’s tent and could only assume that Rinoa had spent the night with the Prince as she’d not seen her leave, so when morning came and camp was dismantled Quistis was very eager indeed for the ox cart to be loaded and she could get some sleep at last, propped up against the awning pole.  
When she awoke it was almost evening again and their procession had passed into greener territory. They crossed over a deep ravine on a great stone bridge with views over the river that wound away through the valley to their left and marked the border between the Estharian Empire and the Kingdom of Balamb. They marched a little further still and the green shrubbery soon made way for open grasslands and meadows thick with flowers. The wind raced across the plains and buffeted the troops as they went, making the flags and banners atop their pikes flap madly.   
They stopped for the night at an inn at a crossroads with a small market, somewhere to water the animals and a brothel well stocked with girls and wine. The Prince, General and the two girls took lodging at the inn while the men occupied themselves in the brothel and market.   
Quistis was on her way to the Prince’s room with an amphora of wine when she was stopped by a sight. At the end of the corridor was a communal bath with a large rectangular tub, and steamers and sticks of incense. Just visible were the Crown Prince and Rinoa, the former relaxing in the bath with a goblet of wine in his hand and the latter gently washing the former’s hair. As Quistis observed this scene with mild annoyance and no small amount of panic she felt a hand on her back.  
She whirled around with a squeak, but it was only the General who was also watching the exchange.  
“They’re getting along well.” He said needlessly, “You must be distraught.”  
Quistis raised an eyebrow, “And you aren’t? Your wife is busy tending to another man in the bath, isn’t that some kind of affront to your masculine authority?”  
He scoffed, “Hardly. If that whelp thinks he’s got any kind of authority around here he’s got another thing coming.”  
“He’s the Crown Prince and your commander.” She poked a finger into his chest.  
Seifer swatted her finger away seemingly unconcerned, “Oh please, he’s an overstuffed peacock with daddy issues. He couldn’t command his way out of a wet paper bag, if he could there wouldn’t be any reason for me to be on this parade.”  
“Oh?” She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip around the amphora, sticking out a hip, “So you think you were sent here to baby sit him and mop up his tears when it all comes tumbling down?”  
He shrugged. He knew why he was really here, to follow the Sultan’s orders, but that didn’t stop it feeling as though he was here to babysit.  
“Well you’re not.” Quistis said sharply. “You’re here as an asset to the Estharian Empire and to him. You’re here because Esthar considers this quest to be of vital importance and your involvement has been ordained to ensure that the Prince has at his disposal all of the assets necessary for him to carry home a victory. It isn’t your place to question why you are here, it is your place to do as you are commanded. As long as you can manage that then this quest will not fail. He will bring a victory for Esthar.”  
She punctuated her last sentense with a look in Squall’s direction that made Seifer want to be sick. He considered Quistis’s profile. Her assessment of their task, though peppered liberally with backhanded remarks about him was accurate. She’d even read his mind about why he was there. He liked intelligent women and her easy evidence of that made her even more desireable in his mind. The only thing that seemed off was her faith in the Prince.  
“Why do you trust him so much?” Seifer asked, genuinely curious. Qusitis looked at him with a frown.  
“Why wouldn’t I?”  
“Well, he’s unproven for a start-”  
“He has won a number of noteable victories on the field.”  
“But only in his home territory where our troops are best practiced fighting. He hasn’t even so much as seen foreign soil before and this is his first time as ambassador for the Sultan, there’s no guarantee he’s going to succeed.”  
“He’s been training for this his whole life-”  
“But never had the chance to put it into practice.”  
“Because there has not been a cause worthy of his-”  
“Oh, ‘worthy of his attention’ was that?” He was suddenly irked. “Every political issue, however small, that has any dictation on the health or suffering of his people is worth his attention.” Seifer said tersely, “If he can’t even manage to grasp that concept then he’s lining up to be a pretty fucking poor-”  
“He does understand that!” Quistis snapped, cutting him off before he could say any more, “The Prince cares a great deal for the concerns of the people!”  
“The ‘concerns of the people’-” Seifer scoffed, making Quistis scowl. “He couldn’t have cared less about the concerns of the people if they’d have rolled them all up in lead and tossed them into his bath tub and made a wish! That parading shit for brains can’t even be bothered to turn up for court and listen to his own Viziers! Don’t give me any crap about him caring for the people! He’d be happier as a foot soldier than a bloody monarch! At least then he wouldn’t have to actually speak to anyone or give a damn about their problems!”  
“How can you have any idea how much he cares about the people?” Quistis asked, poking her finger into Seifer’s chest again. “When have you ever bothered to ask him what he thinks?!”  
“I don’t give a damn what he thinks,” Seifer hissed, rubbing at the spot she had stabbed. “I don’t need to know what he thinks to be able to tell you that he doesn’t personally give a crap whether or not this little dog and pony show we’re directing goes off without a hitch! He’s got nothing to lose, Daddy will always see him alright, but as you so helpfully mentioned before, while it’s not my place to question his methods it is my place to throw myself into the fire for him at a moment’s notice, so forgive me if my dependence on his pulling his head out of his arse and giving a crap makes me a little bitter - it’s not his neck on the line!”  
A loud laugh from the bath caught their attention and as she turned Quistis lost her grip on the amphora which hit the ground with a thud and cracked. Wine splashed up and soaked the hem of Quistis’ dress immediately, turning the light blue fabric a dark purple. More laughter came from the bath and she frowned at how horrid this journey was turning out to be. The General huffed above her head. She gathered her composure and looked up at him.  
“So what is your point? That I shouldn’t have any faith in him either?” She asked.  
“Not really,” He shook his head, the amphora and the laughter seeming to have broken his temper too, “Just that… you shouldn’t try to defend him so readily - he’s not worthy of your time.”  
“Well thank you for your council, General,” Quistis said levelly, “But it was unsolicited, I would thank you more if you kept it to yourself in future.” Then she bent to collect the broken amphora and stalked off, back down the hall to the bar to hand over the ruined vessel. Wine dripped down her dress as she went and Seifer was left standing in the hallway.  
He mused. That conversation… He wondered if she would tell the Prince what he had said. Although his opinions on the Prince were fairly well known, it was still inappropriate to be insulting a member of the Royal family behind their back so liberally. If Squall heard about it and considered it to be serious enough then Seifer may very well lose his head. The Sultan took a casual approach to Seifer’s attitude because he considered him to be a vital asset, but Squall would definitely not share this opinion. A trail of wine followed in Quistis’ wake and Seifer considered that it may be worth his while to ‘make amends’ for his behaviour in the hopes that Quistis would keep her mouth shut. With this in mind the General made a note to visit the market in the morning to see if there was anything he could find to replace the ruined dress.  
___________________________________  
Quistis stared at the package in her hands. How... very unexpected…   
Having spent a good portion of her evening in the baths trying to wash the stains from her hem she had already resigned herself to the idea that she would be making the rest of their journey in a dirty dress. Oh how she cursed the General’s name - this was her favourite dress and now it was ruined on account of his pugnacity! So, how very unexpected indeed to awake to a knock on her door, only to find a courier bearing a parcel wrapped for her, but which claimed to be from the General. And what more of a surprise to find that the parcel contained a new dress! It was lime green and made of a sort of sheer fabric over soft cotton. Gold silk thread decorated the hem and the long, wide sleeves boasted beading and embroidery. The dress was in the local style, but it was pretty and it fit her well. She admired herself in the mirror. The dress was, if anything, a little too long for her and pooled a little on the floor at the back, but she felt demure and feminine. The parcel had also contained a golden necklace, very delicate and decorated with emeralds. They were the same shade as the General’s eyes and Quistis scoffed when she saw it. The dress she could understand, but the necklace? It went into her belongings still wrapped in the package; she would not wear it lest the Prince got the wrong idea and thought she was jumping ship, but she appreciated the dress.  
Seifer was relieved to see Quistis in the dress when she emerged from her room as it seemed his head was still safe upon his beck and once everyone was breakfasted the camp was dismantled and the wagons were reloaded and they set off again on the road. Seifer couldn’t help but admire her in the dress. He hadn’t spent long looking for it, but he had chosen well it seemed;, it looked good on her and gave her a more gentle appearance than the cold blue had done. Though he was a little disappointed to see that she had forgone the necklace. The merchant who sold it to him claimed the emeralds were of Centran origin and the metal work itself was apparently Estharian. Seifer was not convinced, the metal work looked too thin and delicate to be Estharian, but whatever the necklace’s providence it was real gold and real emerald and had not been cheap. He had hoped that she might accept the necklace as some sort of favour and thence be less inclined to grass him up. But she wasn’t that sort of girl.  
He kept looking back at her over his shoulder as they went, wondering what kind of gift she would accept. She would surely accept anything if it came from the Prince. But from him? Hmm… It was a shame really that she wasn’t up to entertaining him.


	3. Chapter 3

The people of Balamb had chosen to build their castle on the only hill in the country it seemed. Built of sandstone the colossal structure loomed large and foreboding over the city that clung to its feet, throwing it into shadow. Visible from miles around it served as both a deterrent from attack but also a focal point for any outside aggression. In the days when Balamb was but another part of the Ancient Centran Empire the castle had been a stronghold of the Empire, housing enough men and supplies to defend and control everything for as far as the eye could see. When the Empire met its demise the people of Balamb had decided to keep the castle as their seat of government and had crowned the then steward King. It had been this way for 300 years since.   
As they approached the city General Almasy dispatched a rider to go on ahead and announce their coming and assure the Balambians that they intended no threat but had come instead to negotiate peace. It was now a tense journey as there was no guarantee that the messenger would be successful in convincing the Balambians of their innocence, but when they arrived at the town some hours later they were met with a ‘somewhat’ welcoming array of soldiers in glittering armour, headed by an enormous ugly man in dark robes.  
The man introduced himself as Norg, chief consul to the King. He lead the Prince and General, the two ladies and a small contingent of their soldiers up through the streets of the town to the castle proper where the houses of parliament and government institutions, as well as the King’s own residence sat. The remainder of the Estharian forces made their camp outside of the city walls.  
Unloading from the cart Rinoa could not help herself but to exclaim, while looking up at the face of the Kings residence, “Oh my, isn’t it ugly?”  
Indeed, by Estharian standards it was. Being so used to coloured tiles and painted glass windows, ceramic lintels and columns and arches, the plain stone facade did look rather plain. A large fountain in the square outside served as the only notable decoration though a few pots of flowers grew around the doorways of the other houses on the square. Quistis could only nod in agreement before the door of the residence was opened and their party was led inside.   
The residence was relatively newly built onto the frame of the previously existing castle and subsumed the tower and parapet of what had been the old Keep. The house which had been built on to the Keep some 300 years ago was spacious inside and consisted of 3 different levels, although the King's personal chambers were still located within the old Keep as it was the most heavily fortified area of the house. The rooms were lavishly decorated with rugs and tapestries, statues and vases and pots full of flowers. There was a hearth in every room and the wooden floors had been polished until they shon. It was very different to the accommodation they had been accustomed to in Esthar and seemed almost dark by comparison, but once their eyes had adjusted to the light they found that the place was very comfortable. Separate rooms were given to all of their party with their cohort of guards being allowed a communal room at the end of their hall, which was very generous indeed as the other guards in the castle were expected to bed down in the guard house on the opposite end of the parapet to the Keep.  
Rinoa looked around her new bedroom with interest once her trunks of things had been deposited. Her room was next to Seifer’s and across the hall from Quistis’. It was decked out in blue with a large comfortable bed. Personally Rinoa would not have minded sleeping with Seifer as she had done for the duration of their journey, but understood that these things were apparently frowned upon in Balamb and unmarried ladies were expected to stay out of the bed chambers of other men, even if those men were members of their own party. Seifer didn’t seem to mind this and Rinoa wondered absently if her charms might have been beginning to fail.  
When she had arrived in Seifer’s hareem he had actually laughed at the idea of having separate beds, saying he was a man and not an animal and could control himself perfectly well around her without the added help of a dividing wall. He was true to his word of course and they had done nothing more sinister than lock lips. Rinoa pondered, tapping her cheek and laying back on the bed. She hadn’t kissed Seifer for a while come to think of it. She’d been spending so much time entertaining the Crown Prince that she hadn’t had the time to kiss Seifer.  
The Crown Prince was a funny one. On the outside he seemed rather taciturn, as though his cake had been brought to his table soggy, but once she got him talking it was clear that he wasn’t like that at all. He was a practical man who didn’t see the point in wasting his time with things which had no definite purpose. For example, he didn’t speak unless he had something to say and felt no inclination to fill long silences with any pointless prattle of his own. He thought in a very analytical manner, that much was obviously clear, but this over reliance on logic and strategy had the added effect of making him seem inhuman. It wasn’t his fault, it was just how he was, so trying to encourage him to delve into imagination, or heaven forbid speculation, was a loser’s game. But, ask him for his analysis on a person or a situation and you got a concise well thought out answer which was easy to understand. It suited Rinoa to a ‘T’ and while he was talking about - or educating her about - his opinions, he didn’t complain while she fulfilled her duties and provided a bit of pampering. This wasn’t so different an approach to the one she took with her father.  
Maybe the reason the Prince hadn’t bonded so well with Quistis was that she simply didn’t know how to handle him. Rinoa frowned. Quistis was a nice girl, but she appeared to be so rigid as to make other people uncomfortable. Of course Rinoa didn’t have that problem because she was never uncomfortable with anyone, but she could recognise how other people might be. It was unfortunate because Quistis was so very pretty and was obviously very bright. She worked hard to see that all of the Princes needs were seen to even if he himself never noticed this and had personally overseen the transfer of his possessions from the procession wagons and into his room. Even now she was discussing his dietary requirements with the kitchen staff and was sure to be found scurrying back and forth between their wagons and the kitchens and their quarters making sure that everything was arranged just so. Honestly it was work for a less important person, but Quistis seemed anxious to prove that she was capable of seeing to the Prince’s every whim and more. It was a pity that the Prince never noticed. Even Rinoa had to admit that the way he treated her was cold and she didn’t quite understand why. It was likely he would never find another person willing to shower him with such devotion for as long as he lived. But he disliked her, so it couldn’t be helped.  
After an hour the King of Balamb was ready to receive them and they went together with their guard to the audience chamber in the middle of the house. It backed on to the main castle wall and high above their heads a stained glass window shon glittering light down into the room. It was the only window of this time that they had yet seen and marked the room out as somewhere special, even if the golden gild furniture and white marble throne on the decorated dais did not.  
King Kramer looked every inch a King at war. He had chosen to meet them dressed in a full suit of armour and his helmet, crested with a long royal-blue plume, under his arm. He stood before his throne and was flanked on both sides by knights. Their helmets had plumes of red. Norg loomed by his side, swaying on his heels and looking disconcertingly pleased. They bowed.  
“Welcome to Balamb.” King Kramer said. His voice was strong. “I hope you’re not here to ruin my Kingdom, Leonheart.”  
Squall bristled at the address, feeling like a child being scolded. Norg hummed happily and spoke before the Prince, “Prince Squall the Leonheart, General Seifer Almasy and the ladies Quistis Trepe and Rinoa Caraway have come seeking aid, Your Grace.”  
“Aid indeed,” The King frowned at them, “And does your request for aid require the use of your troops? I noticed the small army you’ve got camped at my door.”  
“We are not here to assault you, Your Grace.” Squall said.  
“Then speak plainly, my patience is thin and I will not tolerate trickery.”  
Squall swallowed thickly, already this was not going nicely. Though he understood the situation well enough and his father had indeed warned him that this task would be difficult, it seemed Balamb’s mistrust ran deep.  
“If I were of a mind to resort to trickery I wouldn’t have bothered to come here myself.” Squall said and folded his arms over his chest. “Our agents have told us that Galbadia has declared war on your Kingdom, Your Grace, and that your forces, although courageous we are sure, have not fought any full scale battles, least of all against a force as great as the Galbadian Empire, in more than a decade. Our forces however have not had the same chance to grow fat in the sun, ours are quicker and stronger than yours.”  
“Then get on with it!” The King snapped, stamping his foot on the dais with a ‘thud’, “Are you here to crush us or not?”  
“We are not.” Squall said and the Kings eyes narrowed in suspicion. “We would like to negotiate a peace with you. We will take over the battle with the Galbadians and ensure a victory for Balamb. In exchange all we ask for is grain.”  
“Grain…” The King murmured. He eyed the party before him. “And the Sultan deemed this important enough to send his own son did he?”  
“He did.”  
King Kramer chewed as he considered. “And what of the Grand Vizier? What is his opinion of this ‘peace’?”  
“He bares no ill will.” Squall said, then indicated to Rinoa at Seifer’s side, “His daughter can attest to that.”  
Rinoa nodded and bowed low; averting her eyes in the proper manner she said “Indeed, my father only wishes for peace between our two peoples and for the past to be forgiven.”  
The King regarded her for some time, but when the Chief Consul went to speak he held up his hand. “And what is your opinion on peace, young lady?” He asked of Rinoa.  
She shook her head, “I believe it is an unattainable goal, but, our people will only suffer if we do not at least try.”  
At this the King stepped back and stroked his goatee. The party waited with baited breath. It seemed that there was something pertinent in what Rinoa had said, or at the least something which gave the King pause to consider. Seeing this, Norg interrupted, “Your Grace, should we not inspect the Prince’s forces before we make our decision? We would not want to be saddled with a lame horse.”  
The King seemed to agree and nodded slowly, still thinking about Rinoa’s words. “And all you want is grain?” He asked.  
“Yes.” Squall said.  
Norg stepped up onto the dais and whispered to the King, “There are rumours, Your Grace, that the recent rebellion in the Centran foothills was badly handled and the majority of the harvest was burnt by the peasants.”  
“Hmm, yes I had heard that.” The King said softly, stroking his goatee again.  
Norg continued, “Rumours also say it was General Almasy who handled that rebellion.”  
The King’s gaze settled on Seifer now and he looked the young man up and down. Where Squall was dressed in a sparkling breastplate, chain link undershirt and a rich blue velvet cloak, the General was dressed more like a bandit you might find skulking about in the desert. He had a plain, thick linen shirt over a chain mail hauberk over a pair of greaves with hardened leather plates. A ragged brown cloak was wrapped around his shoulders and his gloves and boots were dusty and worn and covered with scratches.  
“General Almasy, I’ve heard that your rebellion in Centra went badly. How do you plead?”  
“Not guilty,” Was the unconcerned reply, “As your consul already noted our grain supply has suffered as a result of the rebellion, however the fields were burnt before our arrival. It was to prevent any further destruction that our troops were dispatched. There have been no reports of any relapses since.”  
The King scratched at his chin again - a habit they supposed and mused aloud, “You heard that.”  
“I have good ears.” Seifer replied. He had decided at once that he didn’t like Norg. The man was too fat to not be greedy and seemed fond of whispering in people’s ears. Seifer had observed the man doing it on the way up to the castle. Although there was nothing inherently wrong with speaking quietly to ones followers, it did raise a certain amount of suspicion as it implied that there was something you needed to hide. Personally Seifer wouldn’t have been surprised if Norg turned out to be the King’s Spymaster instead of the Chief Consul. The way he was puffing excitedly and looking at them all with an air of satisfaction made Seifer want to turn their whole army around and march right back out the way they had come. This place practically stank of honey. He could stand sneaky, self-satisfied types even less than he could stuck-up arrogant ones, so that put Norg even higher than Squall in the unpopularity polls. And the way the man was looking at the two girls was nothing short of lecherous. Seifer reigned in a snarl.  
“Very well,” The King conceded at last and took a seat on his throne, “You have my attention.”  
Chairs were brought forward for Squall and Seifer and Quistis and Rinoa were excused from discussing matters of state. While the men discussed strategy and negotiated the price of grain the girls amused themselves with exploring the castle. The lower chambers held the kitchens and washer rooms, with huge cooking fires belching out heat and hordes of workers preparing for the castle’s evening meal. Above this were the living rooms, study, the throne room and a grand library. The library and the throne room were both on the north end of the house, furthest from the keep and spanned two stories. Quistis gazed in awe at the veritable mountains of books and rows upon rows of bookcases, stuffed to bursting with scrolls and parchments, books and tomes and maps and so much more. Long windows on the western wall let light pour into the room and in the glow of the sunset the room looked like it was glazed in gold. Which it might as well have been - Quistis could not have been any happier if it were. Knowing that the meeting in the throne room would take a while Quistis encouraged Rinoa to go on exploring on her own and leave her here among this trove of treasures. Quistis already knew from her business earlier that the third floor was primarily bedrooms and the odd garderobe, so she wasn’t missing much.  
Selecting a book of poetry from the nearest shelf Quistis settled down on a deep sofa in the sunlight to read. At some point a maid entered to light the lamps as darkness fell and not long after that dinner was called. Making her way into the dining chamber Quistis found the others, minus the King, to be already waiting, stood behind their chairs. Quistis assumed her position next to Seifer and across from Squall.  
“I take it your negotiations were successful.” Quistis asked, interested enough to try and entice Squall into conversation. Squall was having none of it however and kept his mouth firmly shut. He would not indulge her. General Almasy on the other hand had no such reservations and answered;  
“Not yet, although he does seem satisfied that we aren’t about to burn him to the ground.”  
‘He’ was presently getting changed out of his suit of armour and into something more comfortable. When he arrived in the dining chamber he may as well have been in his bathrobe for all the regality it leant him. He smiled at them all when he arrived and Quistis was somewhat amazed by the change. Far from the gruff man they had met in the throne room, King Kramer was now a pleasant and easy-going person. They sat and talked as they ate and by the end of the meal Quistis was left with a distinct impression that she had met the King before, or at least someone very like him. Although Quistis had not spent long in the Sultan’s harem she had had the good fortune of meeting the Sultan a number of times and each time she had met him he had appeared to be ever so concerned that she did not consider him to be purely an authority figure. She did not know if this was just because she was a child at the time, but there was something in the way he spoke that belied how much he cared and he always seemed to be sincere. She got the same feeling from King Kramer, that although he took his duties as a King very seriously, he was not above wanting to share something with his people. It was a natural human reaction she supposed, to want to be closer to the people around you and it did make it easier to be honest with him, but it did make Quistis wonder if he was ever taken advantage of. His demeanour in the throne room suggested that he was concerned about just that very thing...  
After dinner they retired to one of the many sitting rooms to continue their conversation - though the king did make it clear that he had no intention of discussing politics once the sun had gone down. They talked of Esthar and the spice trade and of the Kings younger years spent roaming the globe with the young Sultan Loire, upsetting young ladies far and wide and stealing any number of hearts - although that was mainly the Sultan’s fault, he hastened to add. The King it seemed had no appetite for skirt-chasing as he had lost his heart to a beautiful young woman from Centra, so he was mainly there to ‘carry the bags and make the tea’ while the Sultan wooed his way into many good books.  
It was clear to all present that Squall was not enjoying hearing of his father’s exploits, so he sat there with a stiff back and a frown until Rinoa took pity on him and changed the subject, suggesting she could dance to entertain them all.  
“A wonderful idea, my dear,” the King beamed at her, “I had the good fortune once to see your mother dance - I had never seen anything so graceful or refined.”  
Rinoa grinned at the compliment to her late mother and stood up. A space was cleared for her by the servants and instruments were brought. At the sight Seifer spoke up, “The Lady Quistis is said to be a master of the harp, perhaps she could accompany Rinoa.”  
If looks could kill then Seifer would be drowning in a puddle of his own blood.   
“If the Prince commands it.” She said carefully.  
To her horror and surprise, and to Seifer and Rinoa’s, Squall actually agreed, waving his hand at the harp that had been brought and barking “Then play.”  
Quistis blanched.  
What was she so afraid of? Seifer wondered. Surely she should be leaping at the chance to play her harp for Squall, play him a song that would capture his heart, let her love shine through and all that crap. But Quistis was white as she took the stage.  
“Something lively please.” Rinoa said and Quistis nodded.  
Despite there being very little ‘lively’ about a harp somehow Quistis managed to play it, plucking the strings sharply. The tune was not one that Seifer had heard before, nor Rinoa it seemed, but like any excellent dancer the underlying rhythm was all she needed to hear. The Crown Prince and King Kramer were bewitched almost immediately, unable to take their eyes off the girl who bobbed and twirled and undulated before them.  
For Seifer, Quistis was the more interesting spectacle. She had a carefully constructed expression of serenity on her face, but he could tell that she wasn’t happy. Rinoa requested songs and Quistis dutifully played them, but Seifer could not shake the feeling that Quistis was somehow disappointed with being asked to entertain.  
He cornered her in the corridor later to question her.  
“Excuse me?” She asked, somewhat shocked at his question.   
He repeated it, “I asked if playing second fiddle to Rinoa - quite literally in this instance - really bothered you so much.”  
She frowned. “No.”  
“Oh really? Somehow I’m not convinced, unless the sour puss on your face is meant to indicate unparalleled levels of joy.”  
She pursed her lips and glared up at him; he was at least head and shoulders taller than her and was stood so close that she had to crane her neck to see him properly. “If you must know, I don’t think that asking two artists to perform together gives either of them their due recognition.”  
“Ohh, I get it now. You’re afraid of standing in Rinoa’s shadow.” He grinned as her expression darkened. “Scared your little string instrument won’t live up to her dancing?”  
“No, I simply don’t see why we can’t both be seen by our own merit.” She corrected him, “At least my playing doesn’t rely on the reputation of my dead relatives.”  
He quirked an eyebrow, “Hey, there’s no need to bring her mother into it.”  
“No, there’s every need to bring her mother into it. If it weren’t for her mother’s reputation she wouldn’t have half the recognition she’s got now. She’s done nothing for herself so far and yet people fall to her feet at every turn! You included!”  
“I’m not falling to her feet.”  
“You most certainly are! You and every other ego-driven prick to have stumbled over those doe eyes.”  
He laughed, making her bristle, and crooned, “Come on, Princess, you’re just sounding jealous now.”  
“Which begs the question of why aren’t you?” She challenged, “Doesn’t it bother you in the slightest that your wife is messing around with another man?”  
“I’m pretty sure you’ve asked me that before.” He said coolly.  
“And I refuse to believe that you told me the truth.” She had her hands on her hips by this point and was looking at him with an eyebrow raised.  
“Well it doesn’t.”  
“And why is that?”  
“Because I don’t want her,” He said softly and before Quistis could register what was happening he had taken her chin between his finger and thumb and kissed her.


End file.
